


El Amor de la Chica de Tecnología

by EideticPrettyBoySpence



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:54:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EideticPrettyBoySpence/pseuds/EideticPrettyBoySpence
Summary: 6x12 is called Corazon so I decided to use Google translate to title it in Spanish don't judge me. For people who don't speak Spanish (like myself) it translates to 'The Tech Girl's Love'. If any Spanish speakers feel this is offensive, let me know and I'll change the title.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	El Amor de la Chica de Tecnología

I've always known I wanted to work for the BAU, ever since a huge serial killer case in my hometown. But I didn't know when I was hired Dr. Spencer Reid would turn out to be so important to me. I had first encountered him teaching a seminar when I was in college, along with SSA David Rossi. The first thing I noticed about him was how beautiful he was-- chestnut hair, whiskey-colored eyes with lashes that any girl would envy. He had perfect bone structure, a jawline that could probably cut glass. He was captivating before he even said a word. If he didn't work for the FBI, he could easily have been an actor or a model. But then he started talking, and I hung on every word. It didn't take me long to realize he was also the smartest person I've ever met. He talked about his job with so much passion, and I wasn't the only woman who couldn't stop staring at him. I never got to introduce myself that day but I never forgot him.

Once we met on my first day at the BAU we were instantly friends. We both loved the classic Dr. Who episodes and agreed that Star Trek was superior to Star Wars. I was one of the only two people who didn't interrupt him when he went off on his info blurbs. He's so passionate about everything that he says, that I love listening to him. It wasn't long until I could feel my crush grow into something more. I never thought he could ever feel the same. But then he got kidnapped by Tobias Hankle, and I watched him die. I ran away before I saw the man bring him back, but JJ told me he was alive. We went into a graveyard on an abandoned Underground Railroad plantation, and I watched Spencer shoot Tobias. I was so relieved that I accidentally kissed him, but by some crazy miracle, he kissed me back. He told me he's loved me for years, and we've been together every moment since. I almost lost him to anthrax, but we made it through that, too.

One day I noticed that Spencer had been having headaches. At first, he tried to shrug it off, but finally, I convinced him to see a doctor. We were sitting outside of the doctors' office, waiting for a nurse to take him for tests. He had his hands folded, elbows on his knees. His foot was consistently bouncing, he kept biting on his bottom lip, and his eyebrows were furrowed. It didn't take a profiler to tell that he was nervous, terrified what the tests would show. His mind was cycling through every possible scenario. I reached over to take his hand, and he glanced over to me, smiling gratefully. I noticed it didn't reach his eyes as I squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. I was just as terrified as he was that something was seriously wrong, but I had to keep it together to be there for him.

"Hey, babe, it's going to be okay. No matter what the doctor says, we'll get through it. Together, just like we always do."

"What if something's seriously wrong? It could be something as mundane as migraines. But it could be signs of schizophrenia or a brain tumor. I'm thirty, Nyssa, that's when people start seeing the signs of early-onset Alzheimer's."

"Spencer, shh, you can't think like that. You've got to think positive, okay? Even if it is, you won't be alone. I am not your father. I would never leave you, okay? I promise we'll deal with whatever this is. You're not alone."

"We're almost ready for you, Dr. Reid. Just a few questions," a nurse says, opening his chart. "Are you having one of your headaches right now?"

"Yeah, I am," he says. He removes his sunglasses and squints at her.

"How long have you had it?"

"Um... not really that long. I don't know."

"Can you be more specific?"

"Uh, maybe two days."

"And the lights hurt your eyes," she says; it wasn't a question. He nods, and she continues. "Any hallucinations?"

"No."

The nurse took him back for an MRI and then we left about an hour later. We had gotten a text from Hotch about a new case while he was gone, and I texted back we were running late. As Spencer drove, I looked over the case file so I could help Penelope with the briefing once we get to work. I didn't say why we were late, because it wasn't my business. I tried to get Spencer to let me take him home, but he was adamant that he come with me to work. I knew it was useless to argue with him, so I didn't bother. Emily looked up as we walked into the roundtable room. I smiled at her hoping it looked reassuring. I didn't want anyone to know why we were late unless Spencer told them.

"Hey, you okay?" she asks him.

"Yeah, why?"

"You're never late," Derek says.

"Have we started the briefing yet?"

"Just about to," Penelope says as she walks in.

"Then I'm not late."

"Oh. Yeah. Attention, intrepid BAU adventurers," Penelope sits and picks up the remote. "The land of Bermuda shorts, white leisure suits, and sansabelt slacks requests your presence."

"Vegas?" Rossi asks, and I chuckle.

"Arizona," Derek says.

"Palm Springs," Prentiss says.

"Please," Hotch interrupts 

"I was going to say Miami, but point well made about the dizzying number of locales with unfortunate fashion tendencies. Here we go."

"Shells in the eyes and mouth," Emily says. "You don't see that every day."

"Not even in Miami," Rossi adds.

"Three victims, the last one found with a..." Penelope hesitates.

"A decapitated cat," I finish quickly, angry tears coming to my eyes. 

"All were found within a mile of each other in a mostly Latino neighborhood in Miami called Allapattah."

"Eduardo Guzman, homeless. He was shot to death seven days ago," I say as Penelope pulls up the pictures. "Yanira Espinal, prostitute, bludgeoned to death three days ago. And then Victor Cabrera, he was an unemployed janitor. He was slashed with a machete yesterday, as was his cat."

"You know, considering the homeless man lived in that alley, all of the victims essentially were killed in their homes," Rossi says.

"This took some time," Derek shows the picture of Cabrera.

"In the open," Hotch replies.

"You know, cowrie shells and ritual offerings are common to a number of Afro-Caribbean religions," Spencer says.

"But the upside-down cross looks like Satanism," Emily interrupts.

"The first two victims had fingers missing," Derek says. "But on this one, he took both hands."

"All of this could have been religious?" JJ says slowly.

"This could have specific religious meaning or it could just be part of the unsub's signature," Spencer says.

"Either way, his timetable's accelerating," Hotch says. "We have a day, maybe two, before the Miami PD has another body on its' hands."

We gather our relevant files, our tablets, and our go bags. Fifteen minutes later we were on the jet headed to Miami. Since Spencer had already read the files, he sits on the couch reading a book. I tuck myself between his leg and the couch, smiling when he drapes his arm over my shoulder without looking up from the page. I open the first file on my lap and link our fingers together. I read in silence for a while but look up from my reading as Hotch speaks. Spencer doesn't look up from his book, but I know he's listening.

"The first victim was frail and an easy target. And yet the unsub shot him from behind at a distance."

"By the second victim, the unsub chose not to use a gun anymore," Rossi continues. "He got up close and personal."

"Four days is an increase in confidence. By the third victim, he was comfortable enough to use a machete."

"But still from behind," Hotch says.

"So he's not interested in watching his victims suffer," our new agent, whose name I don't remember, says.

"Which fits what the ME said about the mutilations being post mortem."

"So we're back around a religious ritual."

"Reid," Hotch says, making him look up.

"Hmm?"

"Anything helpful?"

"Yeah. Yeah," my boyfriend says after a moment, moving closer to the team. "The Afro-Caribbean Syncretic religions began with slaves, who mixed their traditional religions with Catholicism in order to camouflage them," he flips open a file as he continues. "The elements in this altar look to me like Santeria. It's a Yoruban-based religion developed in Cuba. Practitioners worship Orishas, deities that roughly correspond with Catholic saints."

"And what about the shells?" Derek asks.

"Let's see," Spencer opens one of the books he was reading. "This is Ellegua, the deity of the crossroads, a trickster and the impartial enforcer of justice."

"So, is the unsub sacrificing the victims to him?"

"None of these religions openly call for human sacrifice, only animals."

"We need to determine whether these killings are part of an existing ritual," Rossi says.

"Or if he's using religion to cover his own psychopathology," Hotch adds.

Spencer gets up and walks over to the kitchenette, and I follow him to see him rubbing his eye. I put a hand on his arm and he pulls me against his chest with his free arm. I wrap my arms around his waist and tip my chin up to look up at him.

"You okay?" I whisper.

"Yeah, little girl, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"I'll be okay, let's just focus on the case."

"The last victim used to frequent a local community center," Derek says from behind us. "Might be a good way to get some background."

"Good. Take Reid and Nyssa with you. Prentiss and I will go to the last crime scene. Dave and Seaver, get set up with the PD."

"This the line?" Seaver walks over to us.

"Hmm?" Spencer says.

"Uh, for coffee. Sorry."

"Oh, no, no, I"m just thinking."

"Aren't you always?"

"Yeah. Hey, what's the weather like in Miami right now?" Meaning, is it sunny, meaning, will he have to wear his sunglasses.

"I don't know exactly, but my guess-- 75 and sunny."

When we touch down at the Miami airport, Derek gets behind the wheel of an SUV. Spencer climbs in the backseat and I follow him, taking his hand and rubbing the back of it with my thumb. He hugs me and tucks his face against my shoulder to hide from the sun. I let go of his hand to hug him back, scratching his head softly with my nails. When we get to the community center's neighborhood. he adjusts his sunglasses and climbs out of the SUV. I climb out after him and take his hand automatically, not letting go even when we round the building and see people milling around. I don't care what people think.

"Hey, what's the matter with you? You're not gonna give me a bunch of facts about the area and the demographics?"

"The Allapattah neighborhood is named after the Native American word for alligator."

"There you go. There's the kid I know. All right. 5372 Seminole Street. This can't be it."

"Excuse me, sir. Do you know where the community center is?" Spencer walks over to a man in dirty jeans, overalls and a wifebeater.

"It's over there. This is Seminole Alley," he points, then starts speaking in Spanish.

Before we can walk away, Spencer flinches in pain. He brings his hand up to his left eye, rubbing it. Derek and I look at him in concern. I turn to face him and put a hand on his chest. Finally, Derek speaks up, his voice full of concern.

"Reid, you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. A lot better than that goat."

I can't help but laugh at that even though I'm concerned. His migraine is getting worse, not better as it should be. I squeeze his hand softly as we walk toward the community center, and he squeezes back, glancing over and smiling softly at me. 

"Yeah, you got that right," Derek says as he follows us.

When we get to the community center, someone points us in the direction of someone we should talk to. It's an older gentleman who knew the latest victim well. I perch on the edge of Spencer's chair as the man begins to speak.

"Victor was my best friend. We were like brothers."

"We're sorry for your loss, Mr. Mercado," Derek says.

"He was sick for a long time, but he was finally feeling better."

"He was sick?"

"His men's part, down there. The cancer," the Hispanic gentleman kisses his necklace.

"Where was he being treated?" Spencer asks.

"No, no, no. No doctors. They don't do nothing but make you worse," the man insists vehemently. "Throw radiation on you, poison you. He did his cleaning every day. That's why he was feeling better."

"What do you mean by cleaning?"

"He clean his head, his body. But he got one of the saints mad. Maybe he forgot to feed Ellegua."

"Terminaste?" someone comes over to take the man's plate.

"Si. Tuti," the man kisses his dog as he stands up. "I must go."

Derek stands up as Spencer opens the case file. He walks away to talk to someone.

"Excuse me. You run this place?"

"I don't talk to cops," the man says. "Unless you got a warrant."

There isn't much else we can do, so we walk back to the car. When we get back to the station, everyone else is already there.

"Well, one thing's for sure is this community does not trust outsiders."

"They barely trust insiders."

"And none of the residents are gonna want to tell us what's ritual and what isn't."

"Garcia," Derek says. "Hey, Garcia, where you at?"

"I'm here. I'm here. I'm right-- I'm right-- I'm right here," she comes back into frame. "I'm always here. I'm always right here."

"All right, listen, we need you to find us an expert on Afro-Caribbean religions," Derek tells her. "Someone outside the community who might be willing to talk."

"If he or she exists, yours truly will find him or her."

"Thanks, Garcia," Hotch says before the redhead hangs up. "So not only do all the victims know the unsub, but they participate with him in a consensual ritual before he kills them."

"He poses the bodies after death, he wants them to be found," Emily says.

"The question is, who is he trying to communicate with?" Spencer says.

"And what's he trying to say?" Rossi finishes.

As the team disperses Spencer and I break off to read the books he'd brought along. After a while Spencer gives up and leans back in his chair, frowning at something on the ceiling a moment later. He sits back up and looks at the picture on the open page. Not long after that, Garcia calls us because she had found a professor at a nearby college, the expert from outside the community we were looking for. Hotch sends Derek, Spencer, and I to talk to him. When we get to the college and ask for directions from the office, we meet up with his TA. He leads us to the empty office to wait, and we enter the office and look around. I follow Spencer to the bookshelf.

"The professor has a morning class, but he'll be with you shortly."

"Thank you," Derek says, and I nod.

"I've never seen a first edition 'Tractatus' before."

While we were waiting for the professor to come so we could talk to him, Derek's phone rings and he picks it up.

"Yeah, Hotch."

"We got another one."

"Well, that didn't take long."

"Jimmy Mercado, friend of the last victim."

"Jimmy Mercado? Wait a minute. Reid, isn't Jimmy Mercado the shaved ice man?"

"Yeah."

"Hotch, we just interviewed this guy yesterday."

"All right, so anyone talking to us could be at risk. We'll send photos."

"Mercado was killed?" Spencer asks as Derek hangs up.

"Psychopathic hubris. This unsub's success is making him feel invincible."

"Hi. Sorry I'm late," the professor walks in and shuts his door. "The lady that called said you're investigating these murders we've been seeing on the tv. Awful. Just awful. So, how can I be of assistance?"

"We were hoping you could help us analyze these. They're difficult to look at even if you're used to them."

"Well, you have several different religions manifesting here. Most of the elements are from santeria healing rituals, but the upside-down crucifix and the chalk drawings-- they're from a much darker religion. Unbaptized Palo Mayombe."

"He had a chihuahua," Spencer says.

"Does that mean anything to you, professor?"

"Santeros don't sacrifice house pets, but there are Palo Mayombe rituals that use dogs," I gasp softly, and Spencer takes my hand. "Palo is a secretive religion. Very hard to research. Mine will be the first academic work on the subject."

"Earlier you called it dark, but aren't all the African-based syncretic religions amoral?" Spencer asks. "I mean, it can be used for good or evil depending on the practitioner, right?"

"They're nature religions. Nature knows no right or wrong, only balance or imbalance."

"So what makes Palo darker than other religions?"

"All the others achieve their goals by pleasing the Orishas. Palo is the only one that harnesses the spirits of the dead to accomplish its ends," the professor shows us a picture from his manuscript. "This is a Nganga, the primary tool of a Palero, a Palo priest. Now at its core is the nkisi, the spirit of the deceased who inhabits it. Many Paleros believe that the fresher the brain in the skull, the more powerful the nganga is."

"So what are you saying, this actually calls for a human sacrifice?"

"No, no, no, not at all. Usually, a fresh brain means digging up a recent grave. Or getting one through donation. I've never heard of a Palero killing to obtain one."

"Well this may be a first," Derek shows him a picture of the newest crime scene. "Does any of this look out of place to you?"

"Outside of the human head, it all seems fairly traditional."

"Well, he cut off the victim's tongue, and put it in a dish. Does that have some kind of ritual meaning?"

"It may be a sacrifice to Ellegua to silence informants, people who talk to outsiders, but usually you use a cow tongue."

"Let me ask you this," Spencer speaks up. "All of the victims either had hands or fingers removed."

"That's not good. He may be building a nganga to Kadiembempe, the deity that some call the devil. It requires finger bones from seven different corpses."

"So far, he only has four."

Once we finish our interview we head back to the station. We share everything we've learned, we're ready to deliver the profile. We gather every cop in the station so we can begin. Hotch is the first one to speak up. Even as I listen and speak, I keep an eye on Spencer.

"We believe that our unsub is a lone male. There is no evidence to suggest more than one individual at any of the crime scenes."

"He is behaviorally young, probably between seventeen and twenty-two," Emily continues.

"Behaviorally?" 

"If he spent time in jail or been institutionalized, he could be chronologically older," Derek answers.

"Those lost years retard behavioral age," Reid says.

"He's part of the community, most likely Hispanic or black," I continue.

"We believe that he uses some sort of religious connection to get close to his victims. Either Santeria or Palo Mayombe."

"Obviously this is a very sensitive issue within the community. He may be a practitioner whom people trust and rely on for healing."

"Instead, he uses their vulnerability to prey on them," I say.

"He's highly organized in his planning," Rossi continues. "But then impulsive in his execution."

"Indicating that his emotions take over once he gets started."

"This tells us that the man may think that he has an objective reason for the killings," Derek speaks next. "He actually has a compulsion which is the real reason behind them."

"And this has resulted in a rapid escalation of his MO and his time frame," Hotch adds. "He's become more efficient and more violent."

"This makes him unpredictable and even more dangerous," I continue. 

"He focuses on victims who are fragile and vulnerable and then creates relationships with them."

"You need to look for someone who has close access to people in need. He may work in a government aid office or a community center."

"Yeah, Penelope," I answer my phone. "What do you got for me?"

"Girl genius does it again. According to the sign-in logs, all of the victims were patrons at that soup kitchen you visited yesterday."

"You know I love you, right? You're my best friend for a reason."

"What's not to love? Bye."

"He will have become moody and preoccupied, maybe even exhibited flashes of temper," Hotch is speaking when I get off the phone. "Because of the age of his victims, we believe he may have been abused as a child and is taking revenge on parental figures. Look for someone who's been in the juvenile system or in foster care. Thank you."

When I tell Hotch what Garcia found, he sends me back to the community center. I bring Spencer and Derek with me. When we reach the community center, we hear voices chanting in a language I'm not familiar with. I instinctively slip my hand in Spencers as we walk in. The chanting continues until people start noticing our presence, tapering off until it's completely silent in the room.

"We're with the FBI. We're not here to cause any trouble," Derek says.

"But, sir, please, put that knife down," I add.

"This is a house of God," the man who runs the community center says. "You have no right to be here."

"We just would like to ask you some questions," I say slowly and calmly. "We'd appreciate it if you came with us voluntarily."

"We're not here to create a spectacle," Derek finishes.

"I will go with you," he looks straight at Spencer.

When we bring the man back to the station, we put him in an interrogation room. Derek calls Penelope and gives her his name, and moments later she tells us everything we need to know about him.

"Okay, your bad boy grew up in foster care. He did fifteen years in Apalachee Correctional for attempting to murder a police officer. He was also a member of a violent street gang known as 'Los Machetes.'"

"Damn. They like to cut off the hands and sometimes the heads of their victims," one of the local cops says.

"Can you get us crime scene photos to look at?" Hotch asks.

"I'll get someone on it."

"Anything else Garcia?"

"I can tell you that Julio did his time without incident. He was released in 2003. He regularly visited his parole officer. There are no waves in these crime waters since he got out."

"All right, thanks, baby girl."

"I shall await further instruction."

"This guy's been eyeballing the mirror since he got in there. Let's see what he has to say."

"Wait, Morgan. I think I should go in first," Spencer says.

"What?"

"Do you remember at the community center, he said he would come with me?"

"If they already have a rapport..." Rossi says.

"You want Morgan to come with you?" Hotch asks.

"No, I'm alright. Thanks."

"Be careful, Spencer."

"Dave, you want to go to the soup kitchen and check out his living space, take Prentiss and Seaver with you?"

"There was a teenager. Looked like his assistant. He took over when we left," I say.

"My name is Dr. Spencer Reid. Did you know these people?" my boyfriend says as he enters the interrogation room.

"They are my godchildren," Julio says. "They all came to me to be healed."

"And you healed them."

"You think I killed them. The saints don't need a human sacrifice. That is a man's sickness."

"Maybe it's not about sacrifice. Maybe someone needs body parts to build a Nganga."

"What do you know about Palo?" Julio paused before speaking again. "This light is no good. It gives you a headache."

"You wanted to see some of what Los Machetes does?" 

I take the file and flip through the photos, then I walk down the hall to the interrogation room. I show one of the photos to Julio to attempt to get his attention off of Spencer for a moment. I don't know why, but he's making me uneasy.

"That remind you of your youth? It's some pretty ugly things to be involved in. Did you help, or did you just watch? Is that what you call religion? What kind of man does that to another man? Not a man of faith."

Pretty soon it's clear that Julio isn't paying attention to me. He hasn't taken his eyes off my boyfriend and had begun chanting in an Afro-Caribbean language under his breath. It isn't long before he's shouting, and my hand instinctively goes to the butt of my gun. I don't pull it out, but I inch closer to Spencer until I can put my hand on his shoulder. After a while, he quiets a little, and Spencer and I leave the room. The whole thing has me shaken, and Spencer stops walking to the observation room. He pulls me into his arms and holds me for a moment, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. We stay there until I stop shaking, and then he pulls back a little.

"Hey, little girl. I'm okay, yeah?"

"Yeah, alright. Let's get back," Spencer keeps his hand in mine.

"What the hell was that?" 

"I think I just witnessed a classic case of transpossession," Spencer says. "It's a form of religious hysteria. He wholeheartedly believes he was being occupied by some form of deity."

"He wasn't faking it?"

"Up close you can see physiological signs," I reply. "His body actually changed in response to the belief."

"There have been a lot of studies of this phenomenon," Spencer continues. "There was one case where an eighty-year-old woman was able to lift a grown man above her head when she believed she was occupied by her saint."

"Detective, did you understand what he was saying at the end?" Hotch asks.

"Brother, look, I'm a Puerto Rican Catholic that grew up in Orlando. That wasn't any language I ever heard."

"I remember the words. I'm sure he'll be able to translate them."

"You sure?" Hotch asks.

"That I remember them?"

"That you want to go back in."

"Yeah."

"I"m going with you," I follow him quickly.

"What happened?" Julio asks as we come back.

"You have no recollection?" I ask him in response. "I remember talking about the lights." "You were talking about the lights, Spencer sits across from him. I hover behind his chair. "And then you were talking about headaches." "That was my saint. You're lucky Ellegua spoke to you. What did he say?" "Eggun buruku ni ki ori baje ni," Spencer answers. "You have bad eggun on top of you that's spoiling your head." "Iche peraldo tete tete." "Do a cleansing quickly." "What are eggun?" I ask. "Spirits of the dead." "Why would you say that I--" Spencer begins, but Julio cuts him off. "I didn't." "Well, why would your saint say that they're spoiling my head?" "Now, that's a question only you can answer. Something's wrong. Can you feel it?" "Yeah, four people are dead. I think maybe the fifth one is safe with you in here." "No, he's not. Someone's about to get hurt. Listen with your heart, not your head." "Your helper, the kid that took over your ritual when we brought you in here?" Derek walked into the room and shut the door. "Elian?" "My associates just found sale-weight heroin in his room. And a nganga." "Where is he?" "He's running." Julian hit the table with both hands, standing up. "Hey, calm down," I say, jumping instinctively. "Please, I gotta find him. He's got nobody but me." "Do you think it's possible that Elian is our Palero?" Spencer asks. "No, no, he's a good kid." "Then why did he run?" Derek asks. "He must be using again. His mama and papa were junkies," Julian answers him. "I took him in, got him clean, taught him right from wrong. Please, I gotta find him before he gets hurt." "The entire police force is out looking for him." "He's of the streets. He's gonna go so far under, he'll be gone for good. I'm your best chance to find him." "You know, you can't protect him if he did this." "I'm not protecting him." "Then what are you not telling us?" Spencer asks. "If you want to help Elian, you're gonna have to give us something that we don't know," I add. "I'll ask the Orishas to help find this killer," Julio says. He takes the bottle of water we had given him earlier, throwing capfuls of water on the floor. He begins chanting in an Afro-Caribbean language. After a few minutes, he turns back around and looks at the three of us. Spencer had stood up, and I slipped my hand in his. "The Orishas are with us now." "Okay, we have four victims, all with cowrie shells in their mouths and eyes," Spencer says. "Eleggua is called to find justice." "Two of the victims had fingers cut off. One had both hands removed," I continue. "And one had its head left on the scene, but the brain was missing." "They took the brain and left the head?" "The head was left at the crime scene," I repeat myself. "No, that is not Palo. A Palero would not leave the head." "He also left the tongue," Spencer pulls out that photo from the crime scene. "There is no use in the religion for a tongue that is not pierced with needles. It means nothing to just leave a tongue in a dish. Elian is an angry child. But he would not do this. Please, let me find him before it gets worse." "Thank you for your help." "Your head is spinning because it's full of ghosts," Julian tells Spencer before he leaves. "You think you can do this work day in, day out and you don't carry it with you? It's eating your soul." "Ghosts?" Derek asks, but Spencer doesn't answer. "All right, so what have we got?" Hotch asks as we walk back into the room. "A lot of evidence pointing to Elian Morales," Emily answers. "Too much," Derek continues. "He fits the profile perfectly," I say. "Too perfectly, like every step was planned," Rossi comments. "There are no fingerprints, but a single sneaker print." "And that sneaker turns up in the kid's room." "Maybe someone's framing Elian, but who?" "Someone with enough intelligence and control to set up a very convincing trail." "Somebody we've met. He's probably been watching us all along." "He began his killing for gain of some sort," Rossi continues. "But his enjoyment of killing is beginning to disrupt his organization." "He's demanding attention," I say. " Maybe that's his game." "Well, he got it. From the media, from the public, us." "That's it-- media attention. But not for the killings, for the religion. Morgan, Professor Walker is about to publish a book on Palo Mayombe," Spencer says quickly. "We showed him the photo of the fourth victim's tongue in a dish and he didn't say it wasn't right. I mean he of all people should have known it didn't fit any ritual." "And that a Palero would have taken the head," Derek cuts in. "But he wants us to believe that Elian's a Palero and that these are religious killings." "And he did his research in the community," Hotch says. "He'd be known and accepted." "He knows the ritual inside out," I say. "Maybe he gave the idol to the kid, pretending to train him as a witch doctor," Rossi adds. "If Elian was angry with Julio, he may have been looking for another father figure," Emily says. "Elian was easy prey," I add softly. "What better way to get publicity than a series of murders." "Yeah, Garcia, get us everything you can on Professor Walker's background," Derek says. "And an address," Hotch speaks up. "Let's go. We'll take the house. Morgan, Reid, Johnson, take the office." Derek drives us to the college and we walk to Professor Walker's office. While we drive, Garcia calls us with his background information. "Walker's prep school did a psych eval when he was twelve. He did not exactly fit in." "No surprise there," Rossi's voice comes over the SUV speakerphone. "And his mother committed suicide when he went away to boarding school, and to make things stranger and sadder, after she died, he spent all of his vacations at school." "What kind of father doesn't bring his motherless kid home for the holidays?" Emily says. "A shitty one," I say. "Poor kid." "His medical records list a bunch of childhood injuries, including two spiral fractures of the forearm and one broken collarbone." "Well, two spiral fractures are unlikely to be accidents," Derek says. "Put that together with the mother's suicide, I think we're looking at an abusive father," Spencer comments. "Garcia, what can you find out about the father?" Hotch asks. "A lot." "Like what?" "He wrote ten books, all on African religions." "The professor's in competition with the father." "Yeah, and here's the kicker. His son is mentioned in this article and that he's up for tenure in the same field." When Spencer, Derek, and I get to Professor Walker's college, we draw our weapons as we walk to his office. Derek opens the door and breaches first, with Spencer in front of me and some of the Miami cops behind. Derek's cell phone rings and he answers it. "Hotch," is all he says. "The Professor's not at his house, you got anything?" I can faintly hear the unit chief's voice. "No, there's no one here either. We're gonna look around." "Guys, neighbors reported a disturbance at the soup kitchen," the detective says. "Let's go, Reid," Derek says. When we get to the soup kitchen and breach it, there wasn't anyone there anymore. Spencer and I stayed in Julio's room to see if we missed anything the first time around while Derek goes back downstairs to the rest of the team. After a while, Spencer stops searching and puts a hand to his eye, his face contorted in pain. I walk up and put a hand on his arm, scanning his face with concern. He sits on Julio's bed and I follow him, rubbing his back softly. He rips his bulletproof vest off after a moment, then he stands up and looks at a picture on Julio's bedside table. He picks it up and I come up behind him to see it was a picture of a house I recognize. It was a news article about a foster home, with an older woman and three young boys. I can easily see one of them is Julio, and I know where the professor went. Spencer looks out the window at the house, which happens to be across the street from the community center. Then he slips out without alerting any of the team. I don't try to dissuade him, because I know it won't work. I just follow him quickly. "Spence, your vest!" "Just leave it, I don't need it." Spencer opens the gate and walks slowly up to the house. He mounts the steps and opens the door with me on his heels. We head down to the basement of the house and peer through some boards that were nailed across a doorway. We see Elian tied to a chair, unconscious, and a table with candles on it. There's another body with duct tape over his mouth and tying his hands behind his back that has to be Julio. I hear the hammer of a gun click and spin around to see Professor Walker holding a gun on my boyfriend and me. "You really shouldn't be here," he says. "Get inside." "You're a professor, and you're very smart," Spencer says as we walk inside, hands raised. "You're a lot smarter than this." "Smarter. Your guns, please. Toss them over there," the professor pushes Spencer into the room. I follow him, tossing my gun aside. Spencer subtly maneuvers himself so he's slightly in front of me. "People like you and I don't need guns." "You and I?" "Men of intelligence." "Oh, we're the same?" Julio screams through his gag. "Shut up." "I think that there are some similarities. I mean, uh, we both love books." "Books," the professor says as Spencer's phone rings; it's probably Hotch or one of the team. Professor Walker takes the phone out of Spencer's sweater pocket and tosses it aside. "You know what? I don't-- I don't believe that you killed all these people just to sell a book." "Oh really? Elian will die of an overdose after killing his Santero for his fingers. It will all make sense to the police." "How are you going to explain me?" Spencer says, and my hand instinctively curls into a fist. I may not have my gun on me, but I'm pretty decent at hand-to-hand combat. I would die before I let this man kill him. "How are you going to explain either of us?" "Elian will have killed you, too. Have we not established how ill he is? He's been on a Palo rampage. Everyone will want to learn about the religion that drove the boy crazy. Will you shut up!" "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but I don't believe that this is about a book. And I don't think that you do, either." "Excuse me?" "I-I think it's more about the abuse, the abandonment, and the lack of attention from your father." "Spencer, careful," I murmur. "That's enough," the professor says. "You know what the ridiculous thing is, is that you--" Spencer laughs and rubs his eye. "You set up a paradigm where you actually have to get caught. Think about it. If you get away with this, your father will never know that you did any of it." "What is wrong with you?" Professor Walker shouts. "I'm sorry, it's just very bright in here for me." "Bright?" "Please dim the lights." "The light-- what are you-- just shut up! Just shut--" Spencer easily disarms Professor Walker while he's distracted, knocking him down with the butt of his weapon. Once his life is no longer in danger, I can appreciate how sexy that was. People always praise my boyfriend for his intelligence, but they often overlook his physical strength. True, his muscles weren't as large or as defined as Derek's were, but he was in no means weak. He was far from it. The rest of the team bursts into the room just as the professor goes down, and Spencer crouches next to him. "We're going to need an ambulance. Elian's been overdosed with heroin." "Don't hurt me," the professor grunts as Derek cuffs him. "You have the right to remain silent. Use it," I growl at the man who could have easily killed Spencer. "Do you think he'll come to see me in jail? Do you think he'll visit?" "Who?" the Miami detective asks. "My father. He'll hear about this, right? I'll be pretty famous." "Oh he's gonna hear about it, all right," Derek says. "You heard me calling, that's why you came," Julio tells Spencer. "Julio, I found a photograph of you in front of this building. That's how we found you." "You don't really believe that, do you? That you just happened to see a photograph?" Julio hands Spencer a bracelet. "This is Orula's ide. It will protect you. I don't need it anymore, but... you do." "What do you need protecting from?" Hotch and I ask. "I have no idea." "Are you all right?" "Yeah. Oh, yeah, I--I am. I pretended to have a headache in order to distract him." "Pretended." "Yeah, pretended," Spencer says as we walk away. "Baby, you're not pretending, are you?" "No. No, I'm not pretending." When we get back to the FBI, Spencer drives us back to our apartment. The next day we return to the doctor for his test results. I've been praying since he first told me about his migraines that it wasn't something serious. Luckily, there was nothing physically wrong with him. "That doesn't make any sense," he says. "I'm not sure what you want me to say," the doctor answers. "So there's nothing wrong?" "Well, your scans are perfectly normal, there doesn't seem to be any physical explanation for your headaches." "Well, what do I do now?" I climb on the table next to him, taking his hand and laying my head on his shoulder. "Well, have you considered..." "Considered what?" "A psychosomatic cause." "Psychosomatic?" "It just means a mental or emotional stress--" "I know what psychosomatic means, doctor, but it's not that." "Well, I think it's something we should consider." "It's not-- I'm not crazy." "Crazy? Dr. Reid, I'm not saying--" "No, listen. I have headaches," I have intense sensitivity to light because there's something wrong with me, physically, not mentally. It's not that." My heart squeezes as I realize he's talking about schizophrenia. I knew that could be a possibility, but hearing him say it like that breaks my heart. He's been worried about inheriting it since he was twenty-five. "That?" "Listen, doctor, my mother's a paranoid schizophrenic who's been institutionalized, so I know very well what mental illness looks like, maybe even better than you, and it's not that. It's not," he stands up and helps me down from the table, grabbing his bag off the chair by the door on the way out of the exam room. He pulls his sunglasses out of his pocket and puts them on, taking my hand as he walks away. I stop walking and he turns to face me, and I take his other hand in mine. "Hey, listen to me, okay? You're probably right, you most likely are. You're not acting like your mother. I know you're worried about inheriting it, which is a very valid fear. We both know it's genetic. But I want you to hear me when I say this: no matter what, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, I'm not going to stick you in an institution if you end up with schizophrenia. If I have to quit the BAU someday, then so be it. I don't give a damn about my job at the end of the day. What I care about is you, is us." "Come here, little girl," he pulls me into his arms. I stand on tiptoes as he bends to kiss me. "I love you, you know." "I know. And I love you, Spencer Reid. Always and forever." We walk out into the sunshine and drive home, my hand in his the whole way. I don't know what the future holds, all I know is I want him in it. My life was lonely and lackluster before he was in it, and I can't imagine my life without him. Always and forever.


End file.
